


Sunday morning

by MirrorElm



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alfie cooking in sweats, Angst?, Fluff, Hangover, M/M, One Shot, Or is that just me, Smut, it's short thought, okay so it's not a oneshot anymore, sorrynotsorry, we all want our own bearded lumberjack cooking shirtless, which should be a common tag by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26025598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorElm/pseuds/MirrorElm
Summary: Tommy wakes up in a stranger's bed again.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 20
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this because I have sort of a writer's block with my other work and needed to step away from it a little. Am still working on the Apocalypse AU, but it's hard to get myself to write it for some reason :/ I'll try to finish it as soon as I can though, in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this fun little intermission :P

Light filters through thick curtains in the sombre tones of an approaching day. Hues of blue with a pink tint colour the cluttered bedroom, providing a dream like quality to the messy sheets and forgotten clothes. Tommy pays them no mind.

He lets his eyes wander across the back of the man sleeping next to him. Last night is a bit of a blur, but he remembers some of it, like he were looking through a blurry haze. Soft touches, dirty words, the scrape of a beard against his thighs.

A sigh escapes him as his eyes trace the outlines of tattoos spread across the other man’s shoulder and arm. Usually, Tommy keeps to himself. He is untouchable in business as well as in private, but sometimes, he just needs to let off some steam. So he drinks and he fucks some random man, gone before he can learn his name. At present he doesn’t even remember this one’s face, but some of his touches still linger, he thinks, fingers tracing the fresh bruises on his hips.

There’s nothing more he’d like to do right now than press close into the warm body in front of him, but he can’t risk waking the other man up. Tommy allows himself to admire the sleeping figure for another moment before carefully getting up. His head throbs dully and his mouth begs for water, but it’s not the worst hangover he’s had. At least he’s not sick.

With his underwear and shirt on, Tommy decides to take a glance at the man’s face while he’s buttoning it up. He never fucks the same man twice, so he needs to know what this one looks like.

Fuck.

Tommy’s breath catches in his throat.

It’s Alfie fucking Solomons.

Alfie had been relentlessly flirting with Tommy since they started doing business and while Tommy wasn’t averse to the idea of those strong hands pinning him down, he had a strict policy of not mixing business with pleasure. So he blushed and chuckled but didn’t engage, didn’t touch, didn’t give in to that mad bastard’s charm. Until last night, it seems.

Well, this is a problem. He can’t well fucking leave now, he’s going to see Alfie again sooner or later, much as he’s considering breaking their arrangement, Polly would want to know why and he’s not ready for that conversation. His family’s not too fond of Solomons, to say the least.

Tommy finds his pants and takes out his cigarette and lighter, going over to the window to smoke. The heavy curtains are pushed aside and more dull light illuminates the room. Alfie stirs, but doesn’t wake just yet. Good. It gives Tommy time to think.

He smokes, sitting on the windowsill, one leg dangling in air, ashing the cigarette through the cracked window, blowing smoke outside. Alfie hates smoking, so Tommy tries to be considerate. Tommy knows this can’t go anywhere, but he also knows Alfie is one stubborn fucker, who’s not going to let him go that easily.

Would he try to pressure him into a relationship? Is Alfie even the type to do relationships? Tommy’s certainly never heard of him being with anyone and he’s sure Alfie wouldn’t be the type to just find someone and settle down, given his eccentricity. Then again, Tommy remembers being thoroughly cuddled last night, his partner’s brutish strength contrasted by the tenderness of their touch. Full of fucking contradictions, this man is.

There’s a phone on the nightstand, Alfie’s phone, and it starts to ring, brining Tommy’s attention to it. Britney Spears’ Toxic rings out in the silent room, interrupted by an angry grunt and Alfie grabbing around without opening his eyes to answer it.

“What?” he bellows into the speaker, curling in on himself. Tommy feels a small smile creep at the corner of his mouth, but he says nothing, watching the conversation play out. There’s a pause, the voice on the other line muttering something Tommy can’t hear.

“Well tell Sabini to fuck off, then, right? Fucking hell,” Alfie grumbles, not bothering to wait for a reply before disconnecting and turning around, burrowing into the covers.

There’s a short moment of silence, “put that disgusting thing out and come back to bed,” Alfie mutters, face turned away.

Tommy smirks. He should tell Alfie to wake up, make some coffee or tea, they need to talk, this can’t continue.

He doesn’t.

“Make me,” he says, taking a long drag of his cigarette as he’s being glared at from the man on the bed.

Alfie stands up, gloriously naked and half hard already, strides over to Tommy and plucks the cigarette right out of his hand, putting it out on the windowsill.

“You’re a right fucking brat, you know that, Tommy Shelby?” he says, inches away from Tommy’s face.

Tommy’s eyes are pure sinful innocence as he looks up, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Alfie picks him up with dark eyes and a grunt, then carries him those three steps back to the bed, nestling himself close and bundling them both in the covers. He nuzzles Tommy’s ear, “now, here’s how this is going to go. It is currently still nighttime, right, to me at least, so we are going to have a little nap, aren’t we? Yeah, that’s right, we are. And then when we wake up, if you’re good, I will give you what you need, hm?” he squeezes Tommy’s arse for emphasis, “and after that, we can have a nice breakfast, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll cook. I don’t trust you with food. We’ll end up eating half an egg each or something miserable like that if I let you deal with it. Sound good?”

Tommy turns around to face Alfie. Why is it so fucking easy to give in? Grey eyes stare back at him, waiting for an answer and there is not one bit of Tommy that would be able to say no right now. He nods, letting himself be pulled into Alfie’s arms and they go back to sleep, accompanied by the slow rise of the morning sun.


	2. Still Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :D  
> thought I'd dump this here.  
> Hope you like it :)

Tommy's never been this lucid during sex. Well, that’s probably an overstatement, but it’s certainly been a while. It makes him feel odd, almost bashful. Maybe it’s the booze he usually drinks before fucking. Maybe it’s just Alfie.

He’s so fucking… attentive. His hands have probably roamed the entire length of Tommy’s body twice at this point. It’s not just his touch though. Whether he’s speaking praises to Tommy’s appearance or leaving a trail kisses, all of this fucking attention manages to elicit goosebumps and flushed skin in its wake. It’s too intimate. Tommy’s not used to the attention. He hates how much he loves it.

“Tommy, get out of your fucking head,” the bearded man looks up from where he is now settled, which is neatly in between Tommy’s thighs, his face resting on the left thigh. Utterly at ease with himself, inches away from the half hard and yet to be touched cock.

“Maybe you should _help_ me with that, eh?”

“Hm… maybe if you asked nicely.”

Tommy scoffs and looks back up at the ceiling, but he can’t stop the gasp that escapes him when Alfie begins sucking on tender skin too close and yet not close enough. He squirms, but the other’s hands are firm where they hold his legs in place.

“For fuck’s sake Alfie.”

“Not what I want to hear.”

It’s a battle between pride and his cock and as fucking always, his pride stands no chance. Tommy sits up a little, leaning on his elbows, looking at the bearded man and his evil tongue.

“Alfie, would you _please_ suck me off?” the words are sickly sweet as they are spoken, almost as if someone else said them. Sweet, inviting, not at all what Tommy is usually like. It’s embarrassing.

The grin he receives in return does nothing to abate his shame, which only fuels his arousal more. He’s glad Alfie doesn’t say anything before finally devoting his entire attention to Tommy’s dick. A long languid lick across his length and Alfie’s mouth envelops him whole, succeeding in making his mind go blank.

God knows how long Alfie plays with him until he lets him come. After which he dutifully fucks him into the mattress, of course, all the while muttering sweet nothings, getting less and less coherent until he finishes in Tommy.

They lay like that for a while, Alfie half sprawled across Tommy after a courtesy wipe with some tissues from his nightstand. The sun is prominent where it shines through the curtains now. Alfie stares. He always fucking stares. His eyes are softer now when they meet Tommy’s.

“You’re something real special, Tom,” he half whispers, placing kisses along the other man’s jaw.

He doesn’t know how to answer. This is all too fucking much.

“I need to shower,” he croaks, untangling himself from Alfie and this situation, picking up his underwear and shirt before disappearing into the small bathroom. Cold showers help him focus, and today he needs one more than ever. Tommy focuses on nothing other than the pleasant sting of ice on skin when he steps under the stream of water.

Once properly clean, he dresses in yesterday’s clothes once again. It’s still Sunday. Huh. Feels like more time has passed. Maybe it’s the nap they took. Tommy didn’t actually think he’d be able to fall asleep again and yet he was out within minutes of Alfie pressing close.

Fuck, this has all been way too out of fucking order. Deep breaths, Thomas. Just tell him this was fun, but you can’t do it again. He’ll understand. He’s professional.

Yeah, not even Tommy believes that last one. Still, with newfound resolve, he steps out of the bedroom into the hallway towards the smells and sounds of Alfie’s cooking. Feels too domestic when he steps in, Alfie in nothing but sweats over a pan, fuckin humming a melody. He really doesn’t have a care in the world. Tommy doesn’t want to admit how much he envies that.

“You gonna stand there all day? It’s just food, Tommy, won’t hurt you,” Alfie says over his shoulder.

“I’m not staying for breakfast.”

“Thought I made it clear it’s not a choice.”

“This was…” _incredible? Amazing? Too real?_ Tommy can’t find the words so he just gestures vaguely before turning away and heading towards the door, “I can’t do this. Goodbye, Alfie.”

“Fucking hell,” Alfie turns the heat on the pan to low and turns around, wiping his hands with a towel as he follows, “what the fuck is it with you?”

Tommy doesn’t feel like having this conversation. He’ll send Ada to the next meeting, she’s been begging for more responsibility anyways and she’s capable of handling Alfie’s moods. His coat is thrown on haphazardly and his shoes tied too quickly as he tries to ignore the angry man at his side.

“Thought I made it worth your while, you can’t eat a simple meal with me?”

Alfie is determined to get answers. Tommy is determined to leave.

“Tommy, take fucking five minutes to at least tell me what I’ve done wrong.”

And that stops Tommy in his tracks, half bent over, just done with his right shoelace.

“What you’ve done wrong?” he repeats lamely.

“Yeah… was it dragging you back to bed? Is it the food? It’s the fucking food, innit? I won’t fucking force feed you, Tommy. It’s not… I didn’t mean that.”

Tommy chuckles. Didn’t expect that. Alfie Solomons, arrogant bastard, standing there like an insecure teenager afraid to stumble over his words in front of his crush.

He stands up straight. Fully clad, wearing his coat, he is a stark contrast to the dressed down state of a barefooted Alfie. Sort of poetic, he thinks. Tommy with all his clothes and all his armour on and Alfie laid bare in both his body and his mind.

“Last night… this morning. It meant something to you.”

It’s not meant as a question, but Alfie answers anyways: “Yes, it did. Did it mean something to you?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Alfie nods and his face betrays no reaction. Tommy takes off his coat again and bends down to untie his shoes. Once he’s done, he steps out of them closer to the other man and asks: “So you made breakfast, eh?”


End file.
